Elegy
by Labyrinth01
Summary: Brenda and Kitty both tell their side of the story while they detail their meeting, falling in love with each other, and dealing with death.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** Brenda's POV. This is a rather sad story, as it deals with Kitty's death. Grab some Kleenex before you start reading.

**Elegy, Part 1**

I never guessed that this would break my heart.

Sure, I've had my heart broken before, usually by men I shouldn't have dated in the first place. And I was heartbroken when my beloved Grandma Anna died. I felt my heart crack when I saw my father collapsed by the elevators at Parker Center, sure he was going to die before I had the chance to tell him how much I loved him. But no one ever told me my heart would shatter in a million shards the night Kitty died.

The funny thing is, I never wanted Kitty in the first place. After I examined Zoya Petrovna's house for clues to her identity, I called the Pound to come pick him up, thinking I was being magnanimous to care about this cat starving to death while I was in the middle of a homicide investigation. But when I bought that house and was showing it to Fritz, guess who darted across the floor? Kitty. I was so mad that the Pound never responded to my call. Looking back, I see it was fate. Not that I really believe in fate or any such nonsense like that, but seeing how much I grew to love Kitty, I am very grateful for whatever happened that resulted in Kitty not being taken away. I even reached toward the phone that day, ready to call Animal Patrol and yell at them for leaving this mangy beast in my new house, but right before I started dialing the number I looked over at Kitty, and saw him sitting on his haunches, staring at me, like he knew something I didn't. It suddenly occurred to me that he was the only witness to Zoya's brutal murder. He had to watch his beloved mistress being used by men day after day, and then witnessed her death at Nick Koslov's hands. As strange as it sounds, at that moment I wished desperately that I could interrogate Kitty. Locked behind those green eyes were secrets, secrets I would never know. And that both bothered and intrigued me. I hung up the phone slowly, still looking at Kitty, and I could have sworn I saw a smile on his face.

Kitty and I formed an uneasy alliance those first few weeks we lived together. He followed me around but never got too close, and I refused to think of him as anything more than a roommate. It wasn't until I was curled up on my bed one night, crying over the murder of a 13-year-old girl and my decision to abandon the perp in a Mexican prison, that Kitty got close to me. He jumped up on the bed and looked at me for a second, as if he were deciding something, and then walked toward me and laid down next to me. Kitty's warm, soft body pressed against me, and he licked my hand a few times. I slowly moved one arm and wrapped it around him, and he immediately scooted closer to me so he was flush against my chest, his chin resting on my shoulder. It surprised me that I felt soothed by this small beast, and having him snuggling against me made my choking tears slow and eventually stop. I tentatively reached out and petted his soft fur, and he purred. I knew that cats purred when they were happy—was I really making him happy? Were we really making each other happy? It seemed so silly to me, so clichéd, but I couldn't ignore what I was feeling. Comfort, and something that felt a little bit like love. I didn't believe then that animals were capable of love—in fact, I wasn't sure _I_ was capable of love—but I switched off my analytical mind and just enjoyed the feeling of the two of us being close. I fell asleep cuddling Kitty, and I woke up in the middle of the night with Kitty sitting on my head, his paws rhythmically kneading my scalp. I picked him up gently, surprised he didn't run away, and sat him on the bed next to me. He immediately crawled on top of my chest and began to purr. I didn't appreciate his weight on me, since he wasn't exactly a tiny puss, but the rumblings of his purrs reverberated through my ribcage and into my lungs, and it lulled me back to sleep.

After that, it was as if we had signed a truce. I started to look forward to coming home at night, knowing he would greet me at the door. He started to sleep with me, or really _on_ me, every night, even when Fritz was over. When I sat down on the couch, he would immediately jump into my lap. The only thing he did that annoyed the stuffing out of me was jumping on top of my case files when I was working from home, knocking them to the ground or covering up whatever I had to read. I would scold his and remove him from the table, but he would jump right back up. He had tenacity, I had to hand him that. But after like the millionth time, I lost it and yelled at him, saying "if you can't stay off my files I am locking you in the bathroom, do you hear me?" Kitty looked at me from the floor, and then gracefully jumped up on the table. But this time, he curled up on the one spot free of papers and files. I know cats can't really understand English, but it seemed like he figured out the way to stop annoying me, and yet still share the table, was to find the one spot I had yet to throw paperwork on. He looked at me smugly, and I sat back down to work. I have to admit that it made the paperwork go easier, to look up and see this little being purring and watching me. It made me feel less lonely, less like I was going to be sucked into the vortex of human misery from the murders I was investigating. Kitty anchored me to this world, reminding me that there may be incredible cruelty in the world, but there are wonderful things like sunbeams and catnip.

Fritz, of course, reminded me of this too. Well, maybe not so much about catnip. But just like Kitty, I didn't want Fritz hanging around me either. Although I didn't contact Animal Control to come and remove him, I did everything else I could to push him away. Broken date after broken date, and yet he still kept coming around, like a stray who needed to be fed. Finally, at what must have been one broken dates too many, he wanted to give up on trying to be my boyfriend and "just be friends." I've been around long enough to know that's mancode for "see you later." And just like I hung up the phone when I tried to get rid of Kitty, I bailed on my plans to make him leave. I pulled Fritz toward me and gave him a very intense, deep kiss, which he returned with equal fervor. If it wasn't for Gabriel's phone call, I don't think things would have ended in just a kiss. As it was, two nights later Fritz ended up spending the night, and I knew I had another Kitty on my hands. He too liked to curl up in my bed, but at least he didn't sleep on my head, and I was grateful for that. Kitty seemed to resent Fritz's intrusion at first, but then seemed to be swayed by his charms, like everyone is. Kitty even begrudgingly shared the bed with him, sleeping on my stomach or sandwiched between Fritz and me. Since I didn't like to leave Kitty alone in the evenings, I made Fritz come over to my house when we got together. I think I saw the inside of his condo about three times, total. Fritz didn't mind, being his good-natured self, and even though I denied I wanted us to stay at my house so that Kitty wouldn't be lonely, he just smiled and nodded his head knowingly. After all, I had to keep up my reputation as a hard a$s, and if it got out that I was all mushy with my cat, I might never live it down.

Poor Fritz. For all his kindness toward Kitty, he bore the brunt of my wrath when Kitty ran away. I wasn't really mad at him all that much for leaving the door open, but I was hurt Kitty would leave me like that. I gave him food, I petted him, I allowed him to claw my favorite chair almost to shreds. Why would he abandon me like that? What did I do wrong? I took my hurt out on Fritz, but as usual, he saw through me. We were in the middle of a joint FBI-LAPD investigation where there was immense pressure on me to solve the murder of a protected witness's wife, and normally I wouldn't leave Parker Center until the crime was solved. But I just had to go home and see if Kitty came back to me. I made some lame excuse, and Fritz called me on it. I hated it that he knew me so well, I really did. We went home and Kitty was nowhere to be found, and as Fritz created a "missing" flier on the computer, I started crying. What if Kitty never came back? Maybe he found someone who loves him more than me. I berated myself for acting like a schoolgirl in front of Fritz: me, crying over a cat, for heaven's sake! As my eyes filled with tears at these thoughts, Fritz pulled me on his lap and said softly, "loving kitty isn't wrong." And as if on cue, I look over and saw Kitty sneaking through the open door and heading toward his food bowl. I tip-toed behind him and closed the door, relief flooding through me. I had my friend back. I scolded him, hoping he would understand my worry and not pull that again, but I was too awash with relief to be angry, at him or Fritz. When Fritz answered my phone using his sexy voice, and found out we didn't need to be back at Parker Center for two hours, I knew exactly how I wanted to celebrate the return of my prodigal feline.

I was asked repeatedly how I didn't know Kitty was pregnant. Looking back, I smack my forehead at my own stupidity. I did notice he was getting fatter, and I tried to cut back on his food, but he meowed incessantly until I gave him the usual amount, and a little bit more. It wasn't until I woke up to respond to a call before dawn and found him missing from my bed that it occurred to me something was amiss. I found him in my laundry basket, laying on clothes I hadn't had the time to put away yet. At first I thought he peed on my clothes, but then realized that he was leaking some fluid. I didn't want to leave him if he was sick, but I knew I had to take him to the vet's. I reached under him and pulled out a pillow case from my favorite set, and since I hadn't bought a cat carrier yet, I put Kitty in the pillow case and took him to the crime scene. This raised a lot of eyebrows, but I was used to people thinking I was a wackadoodle. I was too worried to focus on the crime scene, and Sgt. Gabriel saw that immediately and called over the ME's assistant, Terrence, who promised to take Kitty to the vet for me. It felt horrible, handing my Kitty over to a complete stranger when he was sick, but I had a dead young man and his traumatized partner to think about. I told myself that if Kitty was dying I could deal with that; after all, I had lived 39 years without a cat, and I could certainly do it again. Still, my stomach twisted in a knot as I watched Terrence carry him away.

Later that night, when Terrence announced that Kitty had made medical history, I thought he was telling me he died. When Terrence went on to explain that Kitty had kittens, I couldn't believe it. Kittens? I always thought Kitty was a boy. I just went from owning one cat to owning seven? Oh shoot, I thought, I am now one of those crazy cat ladies. But when Fritz went to pick up Kitty from the vet's that night, along with his brood, I couldn't get over how adorable the kittens were. They were small, almost the size of mice, but they had the cutest little "mews" I had ever heard. I spent half the night making them comfortable beds in the bathroom, and put plenty of food and water down for Kitty. I really didn't know about cats, but I think that women who breastfeed have to consume more calories, and since Kitty was nursing six little ones, I figured that same was true for him.

Since I couldn't leave the kittens alone during the day, I brought Kitty and company to work with me for weeks. Again, I ignored people's strange looks. What was I supposed to do, anyways? When they were eight weeks old, Fritz prodded me to start looking for homes for them. He was going to adopt one of them himself, but we agreed that he was over at my place too much to give a kitten the attention it needed. As much as I didn't want seven cats in my house, the idea of giving them away truly pained me. I put it on Kitty, saying that Kitty will be so upset to lose his babies, but I knew that wasn't true. I read in one of the cat books my momma sent me that female cats don't really care too much when their kittens are taken away, as long as they are no longer nursing. Since I wasn't doing much to find them new homes, Fritz sent out an e-mail to his FBI colleagues and various friends. At first I interrogated each potential owner who came to my house: is your home catproof? How much time will you spend with the kitten? Will you buy good food or just the cheap stuff you can get at the grocery store? Fritz finally pulled me aside and told me that I was intimidating potential adoptees, and he knew all of them and could attest that they were stable, normal people who would care for Kitty's kittens. So one by one, the little fluffmongers went to new homes, and it was back to just Kitty and me.

Honestly, I wasn't much quicker on picking up that Kitty was sick. It was Fritz, actually, who noticed that he wasn't eating and his use of the litterbox had greatly increased over the previous weeks. If I was honest with myself I would have to admit that I saw these things too, but I didn't want to believe anything could be wrong. The vet estimated that Kitty was probably about eight years old, and since cats can live to 18, he was a long time away from dying, so he couldn't possibly be sick. It was Fritz, sweet Fritz, who took the initiative to get Kitty checked out. Even though I insisted he was fine and I could get him to eat (because he loved me better than Fritz), he took time out of his hectic schedule to come home and check on Kitty at lunchtime, and then, without me around to protest, he took him to the vet's. Fritz was the one who had to tell me Kitty was quite sick, his kidneys were failing, and when he came home we would have to give him IV fluids. I convinced myself he was getting better, and went as far as lying to Fritz so he wouldn't know Kitty was throwing up regularly. I know that was silly, but I desperately hoped for a Folie à Deux, a shared madness, so he would believe Kitty was getting better too.

Since I seemed to have developed an aversion to the vets office, Fritz again took Kitty in for a follow up appointment. I tried not to think about that as I was sparring with Captain Raydor over the shooting Gabriel was involved in. Fritz called me right after I had interviewed the suspect and told me, in his usual patient way, that the vet said Kitty wasn't getting better and that the most humane option was to put him down. Fritz didn't actually say "put down," because he knows me well enough to realize such a harsh term would make me cry harder than I already was. I reacted like I'm sure he expected: demanding a second opinion, insisting that Kitty was going to get better, on and on. I needed to drown out Fritz's gentle truth: Kitty had loved me well and brought such joy to my life that I owe him a gentle passing. I couldn't hear that, not at all, so I hung up on the phone, wiped the tears from my eyes, and dove head-first into LAPD politics. In this arena there was no need for feelings, only tactics and toughness, and I was relieved to return to my role as Deputy Chief, where I was a bitch that had no feelings.

Driving home that night, the mask of Chief slipped away, and Fritz's words returned to me, unbidden. Kitty had been such a loyal companion to me for four years. He loved me even though I wasn't his owner, and didn't treat him very well in the beginning. He loved me when I came home late, or not at all. He loved me when Fritz moved in and became a permanent fixture in my life. It dawned on me then that Kitty had primed my heart to open up to Fritz. As strange as it sounds, it felt true. Kitty taught me about acceptance and unconditional love, about the power of loyalty, and, against everything I believed in, letting someone into your life and letting them to be there for you makes you a better person. Even though Kitty was always curling himself on my lap or massaging my scalp in the middle of the night, that paled in comparison with Fritz's unflagging devotion and patience. I realized one thing: they both loved me as much as they could, with their whole beings. How did I get so lucky to have both Kitty and Fritz care for me like this? Tears pricked my eyes again and I let them roll down my cheeks, not bothering to wipe them off. And I knew that my determination to keep Kitty alive was about me not wanting to lose that affection, or to have a gaping hole in my life. I cared more about the change it would bring to my life than about Kitty's suffering. A tidal wave of shame broke over me, and I pulled the car over because I could no longer see clearly through the tears.

I knew what I had to do. I took out my cell phone and hit the vet's phone number, which Fritz had programmed in, as if he knew it would happen this way. When Dr. Fleming came to the phone, I explained what I needed, barely able to get the words out. Her kind, reassuring words were of little comfort, but she agreed to come over in an hour and do, I finally admitted, what had to be done.

Kitty was sitting on an old blanket on the couch when I came home. He hadn't run to the door to greet me for a couple of weeks, but now I could tell from looking at him that he was even too sick to walk. Fritz told me he had found someone to stay with Kitty during the day. He was willing to go along with my delusion, even if that meant paying someone to stay with Kitty. Fritz's arrangements only confirmed my insight that I was keeping Kitty alive for my own selfish reasons. Such a good man, Fritz is. He has a heart as big as the ocean, and I am lucky to have him.

I told Fritz about my decision, and he held me. Instinctively, he gave me a few moments alone with Kitty, and convinced by now he understood me perfectly, I told Kitty I loved him and thanked him for loving me back. And what was to come when Dr. Fleming arrived was a compassionate act, even though he might not understand. My tears had evolved into sobbing, and Fritz returned with a Kleenex box in his hand, which he handed me on the way to the door. Dr. was Fleming had arrived. It was time.

Dr. Fleming is a plump 50-something woman with a pleasant face and an obvious love for the animals she cares for. When she entered the apartment and saw what a wreck I was, she walked over and placed her hand on mine. "Brenda, I'm so sorry," she said softly. "I know Kitty is a very special cat. But you are doing the right thing, I promise you." I nodded, unable to speak. She turned to Fritz and said, "did you both have a chance to say goodbye?" I nodded again, and Fritz said, "I spent the day with her, so yes, I think I have."

Dr. Fleming looked at me. "So this is what is going to happen. I am going to put a small needle in Kitty's vein and inject a narcotic, something that's similar to morphine. To her, it will simply feel like she's going to sleep. Except for the needle puncture, she won't feel any pain at all, I promise."

Neither Fritz or I said anything. I looked at him and saw that he, too, had wet eyes.

"Where would you like to do this?" Dr. Fleming asked gently.

"My lap," I managed to say. I reached over and gently picked up Kitty, surprised by how much lighter he felt. When I placed him down on my lap he curled up just like he always did, and looked up at me with large green trusting eyes. I felt like my heart was being ripped out.

Dr. Fleming pulled a small syringe out of her bag and once again looked at both Fritz and me. "Would either of you like to say something before I start?" she asked. It hadn't even occurred to me that we should give Kitty last rites of sorts. Fritz cleared his throat.

"I don't remember this poem perfectly, but I think I have the gist of the verses that are cat-related." He cleared his throat again, and I saw that he had tear tracks on his face.

_"For I will consider my cat Jeoffry.  
For he is the servant of the Universe.  
Duly and daily serving it._

_For at the first glance  
Of the glory in the East  
He worships in his way.  
For this is done by wreathing his body  
Seven times round with elegant quickness.  
For God has bless'd him  
In the variety of his movements.  
For there is nothing sweeter  
Than his peace when at rest._

_For I am possessed of a cat,  
Surpassing in beauty,  
From whom I take occasion  
To bless the Universe."_*

I stared at Fritz, amazed that he could recite such sweet poetry so easily. He shrugged. "I Minored in English," he said, answering my silent question.

"That was beautiful, Fritz," Dr. Fleming said. "When we are done you will have to let me know who wrote that. Some people might appreciate hearing it when in this same situation." Fritz smiled.

"Are you ready," Dr. Fleming said. I answered by pulling Kitty tighter to me, but Fritz let out a barely audible "yes." Dr. Fleming leaned over Kitty, gently moving my hand so she could take hold of Kitty's hind leg. After fighting her way through fur to the skin and rubbing it for awhile, I could see that she found a vein. She reached for the syringe on the coffee table and uncapped it. As she leaned back down to Kitty, she looked at me deeply, compassion flowing from her eyes. She looked down at Kitty and stuck the needle in the waiting vein. Kitty started at the prick, but not much, which told me he must really be sick if a needle didn't bother him. Dr Fleming slowly pushed the syringe down, and Kitty closed her eyes. Before all the medication had been injected, Kitty was completely still. He was gone.

A great, tearing sob ripped out of my lungs, and I could almost feel the cracks in my heart. Fritz scooted closer to me and put his arms around me, gently rocking me and whispering comforting words in my ear. He reached out and placed his hand on Kitty, and the three of us stayed like that, the humans crying and the cat already gone, for what seemed like a very long time.

When Kitty's body began to get cold, I knew it was time to let go. I didn't want to remember him cold and stiff; I wanted to remember how warm he felt on a chilly night, how his fur tickled my nose when I hugged him, what fun he had chasing a catnip mouse across the living room. I looked up to Dr. Fleming, who was in the living room. "What now?" I asked, my voice hoarse from my sobs.

"I can take him with me and have him cremated. Is that what you want?"

"Yes," I said quickly. We didn't have any place to bury him, and idea of just disposing of his body like trash was blasphemous.

"Honey, when we buy a house and get a yard, we can bury Kitty's ashes, maybe get a nice plaque or something to mark his grave." Despite my bleeding heart, I smiled at Fritz. It comforted me to know Kitty would get a proper burial with a headstone of sorts. That way, he would still feel real, still tethered somewhat to the earth. I couldn't stand the idea of it feeling like Kitty never existed.

Silently asking my permission, Dr. Fleming leaned down and picked up Kitty, wrapping him in a blanket she pulled from her black bag. "Our office will call you when his ashes are ready to be picked up, probably in a few days," she said.

"Thank you, Doctor, thank you so much. This was so much kinder to Kitty than bringing him into your office. She was nice and comfortable here," I said. Fritz contributed his own thank you.

Dr. Fleming smiled sadly. "I was happy to do it. Now I want you two to take care of yourselves, especially you, Brenda. You are grieving, and that grief is as real as it would be if you were mourning a friend or family member. People without pets don't understand that, so ignore any insensitive comments. You know Kitty was part of your family, so give yourself the space to really mourn her death." Instead of saying anything, I surprised myself by throwing my arms around Dr. Fleming's neck, careful not to disturb Kitty in her arms. "I will," I said, thinking that taking a couple of days off might not be a bad idea. I usually like to bury any emotional unpleasantness in my work, but it almost felt…disrespectful to continue with my routine after Kitty died. I wanted the world to be altered somehow, in acknowledgement of his death. Dr. Fleming turned and let herself out of the apartment.

I suddenly felt exhausted, as if my legs wouldn't hold me up much longer. I turned to Fritz, who already had his arms extended, and I collapsed into them. He held me tight and I buried my face in his chest as he stroked my hair. He didn't say anything; he didn't need to. His tears told me he ached as much as I did. Oh Kitty, I thought to myself, you were so amazing you even brought a tough FBI agent to tears.

"Can I make you dinner?" Fritz whispered in my ear. I shoot my head no. "I think I just want to go to bed, Fritz, I'm so tired." I pulled myself away from him.

He sighed. "I'll join you," he said, looking as tired as I felt. He took my hand and led me into our bedroom. He reached into the middle drawer of my bureau and pulled out a nightgown and handed it to me. It didn't escape my notice that he bypassed my red cat pajamas my momma bought me for Christmas in honor of Kitty. I changed into my nightgown and mechanically brushed my teeth. My brain was slowly shutting down; I was swimming through a thick, viscous sadness that didn't allow me to breathe. I pulled down the covers and fell into bed gratefully, hoping sleep will take me away from this horrible feeling.

Fritz crawled in next to me and pulled me close to him so he could spoon me. His lean warmth against my back was comforting, and I felt myself begin to lose my hold on wakefulness. Just as I was slipping away, I heard a faint noise coming from the living room, like a small high-pitched bell. I recognized the sound immediately. I had bought Kitty a toy ball that had a jingle bell in the middle, and he loved it so much I had to take it away from him periodically because the sound was driving me crazy. And now I was wide awake hearing it, like I had a thousand times before, on the night Kitty died. I lay still and continued to listen to the cat toy. Fritz will think I have gone crazy, I thought, but I had to know if it was just me. I whispered, "Fritz?"

He pulled me closer, and I could feel his rapid heartbeat against my back. Fritz said softly, "It's okay Brenda, I hear it too."

*This is a modified excerpt of a poem entitled "Rejoice in the Lamb" by Christopher Smart.

**.**

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	2. Chapter 2

**Author's notes:** Kitty's POV. I put a lot of humor in this part, so it's not as sad as part 1, although I heard there were still a fair amount of sniffles. I hope you enjoy.

Elegy, Part 2

I never would have guessed that my death would break her heart.

When I first met Brenda, I was taken aback by the sharp-tongued woman who clearly didn't want me around. I admit, my grooming wasn't so great back then, but I hear you shouldn't judge a book from its cover. After all, what did I do wrong? I wasn't the one who killed my beloved Mistress Zoya. I was heartbroken over her death, didn't this mean lady comprehend that? I instantly ran and hid, because I didn't want to leave my house, the house I shared with Zoya.

Zoya found me in a shelter when I was still a kitten. I had been living on the streets for awhile, so I was grateful to be in a place that where I got fed regularly, but I really wanted to have a home again. One day, this pretty lady came in, and she caught my attention immediately. She seemed so sad, much too sad for such a young girl, and I could feel misery rolling off of her in waves. I was very good at sensing human feelings, better than most cats, and I knew I could give her the comfort she needed. As she walked past my cage, I stuck a paw out and snagged my claws on her shirt. She stopped and looked at me, smiling. Zoya took me out of my cage and I instantly curled up against her neck and started to purr (humans just love the purring thing). She didn't even bother to look at any other cats that day; she knew I was the one.

Living with Zoya was even better than I could have imagined. She had a beautiful house with many windows to sit in, and lots of soft furniture to take my naps. But the best part of my new life was Zoya herself. She showered me with affection, fed me treats like fish and liver, and bought me the best toys. She named me Lubilaya, which means "beloved" in Russian. She also spoke to me about everything and nothing, usually in her native tongue, and I knew I was her only confidant.

Humans usually think that we cats don't understand them when they talk to us. Duh. Of course we understand. It doesn't matter if they use English or Russian, or any other language, we still understand. What humans don't realize is that they speak very loudly with their hearts, and all felines need to do was to look in their eyes and we comprehend every word. Too bad the communication isn't reciprocal. Humans don't get that everything we say is in our meow, and if they just paid attention, they would know exactly what we are thinking. We also rely on body language, rubbing against them, giving them head butts, and in extreme situations, we create a little havoc to get our point across. Brenda, for instance, could never figure out when I was telling her she was working to hard and needed to relax by giving me some cuddles, so I would climb up on the table and knock off a stack of case files. If she didn't get the hint the first several times, I would give up and settle for simply staring at her, hoping she would read my eyes and know I was worried about her. She never did.

But back to my beloved Zoya. She told me everything about her life, how she came to America and what she had to do to get here. She talked about how lonely she was, and how much she hated what she had become. When she cried, which was frequently, I would curl up to her as close as I could get, and she would put her arms around me and lay her head on my body, her tears soaking through my thick fur. I felt so very bad for her, but all I could do was give her as much love as I could. She often cried after the men who came to our house every day had gone, and then she would wipe her eyes, put on more makeup, and wait for the next man. I don't know who these men were and why they didn't stay for very long, but I didn't like them. I always made sure to hide until they left, and then I went in search of Zoya, in case she was upset again.

I will never forget that horrible, horrible day when the one man who came over and stayed longer, Nick, started to scream at Zoya. I hid under the bed, and when Zoya started screaming in pain, I grew terrified. I waited until Nick had left before I crawled out to find Zoya, in case she needed me, and I found her right away, on the bed, but something was terribly wrong. There was blood everywhere, and Zoya was very still. I jumped up and licked her face, crawled on her chest with my claws out, and even nipped at her fingers, but she still didn't move. I curled up on Zoya's chest and waited for someone to come. It was a long time, and I had grown very hungry, but finally a bunch of men in blue uniforms showed up. I sensed that they weren't friendly, so I ran quickly out of the bedroom and darted underneath the couch. When they finally left, Zoya was gone. I knew she was dead because I couldn't feel her heart beating when I was lying on her chest, but when she wasn't on the bed anymore. I was alone again.

A few days later a couple of ladies came to the house, and I watched them surreptitiously from my vantage point in the laundry room. One of the ladies seemed very nice and soft-spoken, and the other seemed cold and harsh. Hoping the nice one would take pity on me and feed me, I darted across the house so I could be seen. And just my luck, the cranky lady picked up the phone and called the Pound! Really, I was so offended. Couldn't she at least try and find me another home or something? Thank goodness the nice lady found my food and filled my bowl. I glared at the grumpy lady, whom I later found out was named Brenda, but she paid me no mind. Harrumph. They finally left, but at least I was given enough food to last for a couple of days. The Pound didn't come for me, but in preparation, I had found some really ingenious hiding places. The idea of the Pound sent shivers down my shackles. Rumors I've heard say that once you go to the Pound, you never get out, so there was no way I was going to let them find me. I just kept my paws crossed and hoped that whomever moved into the house next would realize I belonged there, and let me stay, even if they weren't as wonderful as Zoya.

But wouldn't you know it…it was the grumpy lady, I mean Brenda, who bought the house. The first time she came to show it to the handsome man, I made my presence known, just to remind her that the place came fully furnished, cat and all. To my great surprise, she stamped her foot and said she was mad Animal Control never came to pick me up. Nice, I thought, real nice. This is _my_ house, for Bast's* sake! I don't take up a lot of space, I don't eat much, and I keep a clean litter box, so let me stay already! I tried to tell her that when she lured me closer with food and then grabbed me, but she didn't recognize my hiss which meant hands off, sister.

But she never made me leave. Brenda fed me every day, gave me water, and cleaned out my litter box, cursing up a storm each time she did it. I was offended—I didn't smell that bad! But she didn't buy me toys, or try to make friends with me at all. I followed her around because I was curious about her, but she didn't pay much attention to me. This lady wasn't very nice, so I wasn't going to go all Morris on her and try and get her to love me. It was her loss.

It went on this way for awhile, until one night, I heard a sound I hadn't heard in awhile. Brenda was crying. I didn't even know she was capable of crying, to be honest. I walked into the bedroom cautiously and saw her curled up on the bed, crying so hard her shoulders were shaking. What the hell, I thought. She's sad, and I'm a very good comforter. I jumped up on the bed and gingerly lay down next to her. She opened her red eyes in surprise, and for a second, I was worried she was going to yell at me again. But instead, she slowly put her arm around me, and I scooted even closer. It felt so good to be this close to a human again. Slowly Brenda's sobs slowed, as did her breathing, and she fell asleep. After a few hours I crawled out from under her arm to give her one of my world famous relaxing scalp massages. For some reason this woke her up, and she pulled me off of her, my claws tangled up in her long blonde curls. I then moved on to another tactic, the full body chest press, with a side of purrs. At first she didn't seem to like me on her chest, but she made no attempts to move me. And I was so glad, because her slow, steady heartbeat felt so good to me.

After that, we both made an effort to be friends. I did the cat things that humans just eat up, like running to the door when I heard keys in the lock, weaving through their legs, and hopping up in their laps whenever they sat down. Brenda turned out to be a pushover. She bought me all kinds of toys and gave me cat treats all the time. She started talking to me too, just like Zoya did, telling me about her day and complaining about the people she worked with. I figured out Brenda was a boss, and that explained why she could be so cranky. Brenda went on and on about someone named "Pope" and "Taylor" a lot, and I wish I could beat them up for her. That will teach them to mess with my Brenda! Of course, I don't have opposable thumbs, so I couldn't really punch them, but I'm sure I could think of something nasty.

Our alone time didn't last all that long, because soon, a guy named Fritz started hanging out a lot. At first I was mad, because it cut down on the attention I got, but there was something about Fritz that I really liked. He was gentle and sweet, and he always said nice things to Brenda, unlike the men in Zoya's life. And I must admit, not that I'm in favor of cross-species love affairs or anything, but my goodness, was Fritz a looker. I did get a little miffed when he started sharing our bed, because I was there first. But I found that once they settled down in the bedroom at night, I could sneak in and make myself comfy on Brenda's chest just like when we were alone. Even when Fritz moved in, I didn't care. He was always willing to give me ear scritches and pets, and he even snuck me food off his plate when Brenda wasn't looking.

The thing about being a cat is that you have amble opportunity to observe the humans you live with. They don't pay that much attention to you unless you are front and center, so I spent hours watching Brenda and Fritz. That's how I knew everything that went on in the house, much more so than the humans ever did. When Fritz was out, Brenda would take a flowered box out from under the bed and look through a bunch of pictures with a sad look on her face. Sometimes she cried. One night, after Brenda and Fritz got into a big fight and Fritz stormed out, she threw away the flowered box. I never understood why. Many nights I watched Fritz pace the living room, cell phone in hand, whispering curses under his breath in between trying to reach Brenda. I watched him toss and turn in bed, despite my comforting scalp massages, until Brenda came home from work in the middle of the night and snuck into the bed. Sometime I thought she didn't treat Fritz right. If he were my man, I would give him all the love and kisses he deserved…oh right, I can't, I'm a cat. Oh, and best of all was watching Brenda sneak out of bed after Fritz had fallen asleep and pull out a box or two of Ho-Ho's from her big black purse. I gathered from their fights that she wasn't supposed to eat them, which might explain why she tiptoed through the house and hid Ho-Ho's in drawers, behind pictures, in the fabric softener box in the laundry room…I really had to admire her creativity. Even funnier was when Fritz found the Ho-Ho's in bizarre places, like tucked in Brenda's box of Tampons in the bathroom, because he would throw a fit. Or he would laugh out loud, shaking his head. Either way, the confiscated treats were tossed, and the enjoyment was furthered for me as I watched Brenda's shock when she found her stealth treats were missing. She would turn and look suspiciously at me, because who else would have found them in the top shelf of the closet, tucked in her white hat? I really wanted to roll my eyes at her when I was falsely accused. What I going to do with them, bat the package around the house like a big toy? I think not.

I'm not really sure why I ran away that one time. I guess I was itching to get out, because Zoya used to let me out every day, and I found it was hard strictly being an indoor cat. Sure, it had it's benefits, like safety and food, but I wasn't just a cat, I was a ferocious beast who needed to hunt. So I darted out the door when Brenda opened it and ran as hard as I could into the dark night. It felt so good to be free. I quickly sprinted through the neighbors' yards, and ignored both Brenda and Fritz as they called to me. I wasn't ready to come home, so I ran a little further away and hid in a tree. I felt guilty, because I knew Brenda would be upset, but sometimes you just can't resist the call of the wild.

The next day I met a sexy, irresistible Tomcat with sleek black fur, and fell under his seductive spell. I wasn't one to have sex on the first date, but I was in heat, so my hormones drowned out my morals. When we finished, he quickly ran off, and I hissed. Men! Always after one thing.

Two days into my adventure, I decide to cut it short. Catching and eating live mice for dinner just wasn't as fun as it looks like in the movies. I missed my food bowl, my favorite scratching chair, and most of all, my Brenda. Lucky for me, the front door was wide open when I got home, and their lay a bowl of kibble right in my line of site. I trotted in and started eating, only to be interrupted by the thud of the door shutting behind me. Brenda sat down next to me and started to scold me, telling me how bad I was and that I looked like a mess. I stared at her, insulted. It's not like _she_ looked like a goddess after working a couple days straight! Besides, if she took a tumble with Mr. Tomcat, she wouldn't look all that great either. But despite her words, I could tell that she was very relieved to see me, and I was touched. I vowed no more running away. Well, at least in the near future. It just made Brenda too upset.

I couldn't believe Brenda didn't notice I was pregnant. Of course, she didn't know about my liaison with Mr. Tomcat, but really, I was getting bigger and bigger by the day. She actually thought I was getting fat, and tried to cut my food down. Now is not the time for a diet, lady, I told her very clearly, and she got the hint. Food supplies became adequate again, and combined with Fritz's table scraps, the kittens inside me grew quite large. And Brenda still didn't notice. I thought she was a detective of some sorts, but maybe not. After all, she thought I was a boy for some reason. Well, giving birth should clue her in to start referring to me as a "she."

When the time came, I crawled into her laundry basket, trying to breathe through the pain and prepare myself for birthing a mess of kittens. When Brenda found me, I thought, finally, she'll figure out what's going on! But no, she thought I was sick. Good thing she went into law enforcement and not medicine, I'll tell you what. Instead of staying with me and helping me through labor, she did the weirdest thing: she put me in a pillow case and took me to her car! Do you know how uncomfortable a pillow case is when you have kittens in your belly trying to get out? I could have clawed her eyes out for that. Finally the car stopped, and I was carried inside. I could hear lots of voices, but I was in too much pain to listen. Then--get this--she handed me over to a complete stranger. I wanted to cry. Didn't she love me any more? Why was she doing this to me? Good thing she didn't have kids, I thought bitterly, she'd probably eat her young.

Much to my relief, I was taken out at the vet's and given a safe place to have my kittens. A couple hours later, I was the proud momma of six beautiful little ones. Well, they weren't really beautiful yet; mainly they looked like hairless mice. But I could tell they were going to have my beautiful fur, except maybe one, who I was sure was going to look like his no-good father.

To my surprise, it was Fritz who picked us up at the vet's, and he was none too pleased to have us in his car. I was a little hurt. He kept muttering that if one of us peed in his new car blah blah blah… I tried to tell him that if someone would spring for a cat carrier, it wouldn't be a problem. But then Brenda got in the car, and the two of them started arguing about a pair of earrings from that Pope guy, and they stopped paying attention to me and my new family.

I guess Brenda didn't trust me to take care of my kittens by myself, because she packed us up in a box and took us to work with her every day. Not that I minded, really. People stopped by all day and cooed over my kittens, and gave me pets too. And the best part was, I finally got to meet the Pope and Taylor men Brenda was always talking about. It took one look and I could tell both of them were jerks, and I decided to make them pay for harassing my Brenda. I asked Izzy, my smartest kitten, to climb up Taylor's leg. I know nothing is more painful to a human than to have a kitten repel themselves up your leg using claws instead of crampons. Taylor howled with pain and tried to shake Izzy out of his pant legs, but Brenda immediately reprimanded him for trying to hurt one of her cats. Taylor said "yes Ma'am" through tight lips as he reached up his pant leg and extracted Izzy from his skin. As soon as Taylor left, Brenda started laughing.

As far as Pope, well, I sensed that he was by far the worst of the two, so I decided on a two-step approach. First, I waited for him to lean over the desk opposite of Brenda, a common stance that seemed like he was intentionally trying to annoy her. His tie, as usual, came out of his jacket and dangled like a plaything. So I jumped up on Brenda's lap, leapt toward Pope, and sunk my claws into his wayward tie. Pope let out a string of obscenities as he tried to disengage my claws, which he was able to do with Brenda's help. I was more than pleased to see several large pulls left on his tie. He yelled at Brenda about how expensive his tie was, and cats shouldn't be in the workplace to begin with. Brenda apologized profusely, but I could tell she wasn't upset in the least. In fact, she fed me some of her tuna sandwich when Pope left. For phase Two of my plan, I asked Buffy, my second smartest kitten, to be as quiet as possible, sneak over to Pope, and pee on his shoe. Buffy took the first opportunity she could to do this, which happened to be when there were several other people in Brenda's office for some type of meeting. As Pope blustered out a bunch of nonsense, Taylor right next to him along with a few other men in suits, Buffy carefully avoided ruffling Pope's pant leg and proceeded to pee on the top of his shoe. Pope didn't even notice until Buffy was almost done. She caught his eye, and then he looked down at the wet spot on his shoe. His face went even redder than it was to begin with, but he said nothing, just continued to yell. Apparently, he was too proud of a man to admit in a meeting that a kitten just whizzed on his foot. As everyone left he stealthily took some Kleenexes from Brenda's desk and bent down to quickly wipe of the pee, tossing the tissue in the trash and walking out the door as he glared at Brenda. Ha ha, take that, tormentor of my mistress, I thought, feeling immensely proud of myself and my offspring. No one messes with Brenda without repercussions of the feline variety.

Finally Brenda stopped bringing us to work because the kittens were now eight weeks old and could stay at home with just me tending to them. I knew what would come next, but I was prepared for it. She was going to find my babies new homes. I felt sad, terribly sad, but this is what it means to have kittens. They all have to leave home some day to find their own humans. One by one, my kitties were taken by nice people who seemed to be friends of Fritz. A couple of them even two kittens, which was nice that they would always have each other. I wished that Brenda kept one of the kitties for us, but alas, they were all adopted, and it was back to Brenda, Fritz and me. And that was okay.

I knew something was wrong with me long before Fritz broke the news to Brenda. I was peeing up a storm in the litter box, and I felt too nauseous to eat. I was throwing up a lot, but I tried to be considerate and just barf in hidden places like under furniture so that Brenda and Fritz wouldn't have to look at it. Finally I started to feel too tired to run around much, and that is when Fritz became concerned. Against Brenda's wishes he took me to the vet's who poked and prodded me and drew blood. Something not too good must have been found in those blood tests, because after the vet called, things got unpleasant. Twice a day, Brenda or Fritz had to stick a big needle under my skin and force a bunch of fluid into me through a tube. It tickled. It that wasn't bad enough, Brenda stuck me with another needle and gave me more medication. If wasn't feeling so sick, I would have given her the message loud and clear that I didn't appreciate this at all. But I was too tired to even protest, and Brenda told me what a good Kitty I was. I wasn't being good, I was just too weak to protest.

Soon, moving around seemed like too much effort, so I lay on the couch on my favorite blanket. Eating didn't appeal to me at all, although I would try to take a few licks of water when Fritz brought it to me. I was dragged back to the vet's yet again, where Fritz was told that there was nothing else they could do for me, and it was time to think about other options. Other options? I didn't know what that meant. I didn't understand until I heard Fritz explaining things to Brenda on the phone in his usual gentle voice. He was talking about my suffering, and how I only had more suffering to look forward too, and she should do right by me. Then I got it. Oh. They are putting me down because I'm so sick I'll never get better. As big of a shock this was, I hoped that Brenda was agreeing with Fritz on the phone. I was far more worried about being sick and miserable than I was about moving on to my next life. But it looked like Fritz lost the argument, and my heart soared. My Brenda loved me so much she didn't want me to leave, even though it was the best choice. This, coming from the woman who wanted Animal Control to take me away. We had come a long, long way from the day we met.

I sat next to Fritz on the couch, where he petted me almost continually and told me everything was going to be alright. I knew it wasn't, but that's okay, he was just trying to reassure me. I heard him making a few phone calls to find someone to stay with me during the day, and I wasn't happy about that. If I had to be this sick and miserable, I wanted Brenda with me, not some complete stranger. I stared into his eyes, desperately trying to communicate this to him, and Fritz nodded. "I know this isn't the best thing for you, Kitty, but it's what Brenda wants, and I can never say no to her." I know this, she was spoiled rotten by this handsome man, but I was disappointed. I was ready to shrug off these mortal coils and move on. I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

I woke a couple of hours later to the sound of Brenda coming through the front door. She was in tears. Fritz immediately told her he had found a babysitter for me, but she waved him off. She said the vet was on her way over, and Fritz was right, keeping me alive and in pain wasn't fair to me. Amen to that, I thought. Fritz left Brenda and me alone, and she wrapped her little hands around my head and gave me scritches. She said she wished she knew what I was thinking, so she could be sure I understood her motives. My heart broke a little, because I did understand, and I wanted this too, as much as we were going to miss each other. Life for life's sake is rarely the right answer, and I was ready to move on. Brenda sobbed and told me she loved me in a voice that didn't come from her heart, but from her soul. My heart broke a little more for this human I also grew to love as much as Zoya. Brenda laid her head on my body, and I gave her one more purr. This only made her cry harder.

The vet showed up shortly thereafter, and she seemed to recognize Brenda's fragility, because she spoke to her very softly. Brenda lifted me and placed me on her lap, holding me as tight as she could, and then for some reason, Fritz started to recite some poem. Maybe all humans do that when they put their cat to sleep, who knows. Before long, the vet took my hind leg and felt all along the skin. I didn't fight her, I just let her do what she needed to do. When the needle pierced my skin I jumped a tiny bit, but it didn't hurt too much in considering how bad I was feeling.

I was growing sleepy now, my eyes closing, and then I was flying. When I opened my eyes again, I was in a beautiful green clearing in a forest where many dogs and cats were playing, some even together. I was in the Summerland, the place that souls, animal and human, go to rest before they move on to their next life. I had been here before, a couple of times, since I have already used up three of my nine lives. I flexed my paws into the green spongy earth, and realized that I felt absolutely wonderful, no aches or pain at all. To test my newfound health, I dashed across a clearing as fast as I could, then climbed up a nearby tree to almost the top. I jumped down gracefully, branch by branch, before I jumped from the lowest one, and of course I landed on my feet. I looked around at the other cats watching me, and they were all saying the same thing: _Welcome_.

The Summerland had everything I wanted: a forest, crystal lakes in which to drink from, fields to run in, mice to eat (Summerland mice tasted much better than earth mice), and companions. It was only missing one thing: my favorite toy. Brenda had bought me this ball that had a jingle bell in it, and I just loved batting it around the house to hear the sound it made. Sometimes Brenda would take it away from me for a few days because the sound drove her crazy (which, of course, was one of the reasons it was my favorite toy.) Maybe it came with me; I looked around on the ground, but I didn't see it anywhere. I guess you can't really take it with you. But I wanted to play with that toy, just one last time, in my healthy new body. I wonder if it was possible?

We cats can be pretty magical if we try…that's why the Egyptians worshiped us and the witchhunters feared us. So I closed my eyes, and wished, with all my being, to be back in my old house. Almost immediately the forest smell was replaced by a familiar smell. Sure enough, when I opened my eyes, I was back in my old living room. I knew I didn't have much time, so I quickly went over to where my toy was hidden, underneath the entertainment center. I took a powerful swipe at it, and it flew across the room, the toy jingling madly. This is great! I chased it, running so fast my body was a blur, and batted it into the dining room. I continued this for as long as I could, until I felt the tug to go back where I belonged. I picked up the toy in my mouth, jumped on the dining room table and then set down the toy in the middle, in plain sight. I wanted to let my beloved Brenda know I loved the gift she gave me, so much that I came back to play with it one last time. The pull to return was strong, so I closed my eyes and let myself be carried away. I again landed on soft earth, and took in the beautiful setting that would be my home for awhile. I knew the humans would be okay, so I didn't worry about them any more. Instead, I focused on which of the big trees I wanted to climb next.

**THE END**

*Bast is the Egyptian cat goddess of life and pleasure

**Feedback, please oh please!**


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